Lost in the fire of last year's Pierrot centennial was translation. After all, it was Otto Erich Hartleben's German--translated from the original French of Albert Giraud--that Arnold Schoenberg had set.
And with Stanley Appelbaum's Anglicised Hartleben turning 20 next year (not to mention having its own Twitter account @PierrotTweets), Classicalite figured a new English language translation was passed due.
To wit, for the next 21 weekdays, we'll be offering a new take on each of Giraud/Hartleben/Appelbaum's 3x7 poems...alongside some of our favorite performances.
DECAPITATION
The moon, a shiny Turkish sword
Upon black silken cushions,
Spectrally vast, hanging like a threat
In the grief-darkened night.
Pierrot roams restlessly
And stares on high in agony
at the moon, a shiny Turkish sword
Upon black silken cushions.
His knees knocking beneath,
Suddenly, he faints.
Convinced that he deserves the whistling down
Onto his sinful neck--
The moon, a shiny Turkish sword.
Coming up next, Teil II: 14. "Die Kreuze."
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